The Last of the Moon Girls(88)

“You don’t think she had a right to be there?”

“Woman like that doesn’t have a right to be anywhere. All she’s done since she’s been back is make trouble for folks.”

“For folks? Or for you?”

“My girls are none of her damn business.”

“And that’s why you threatened her?”

Gilman’s eyes rounded. “Who said anything about threatening her?”

Before Andrew could stop himself, he’d grabbed a fistful of Gilman’s shirt. “You got in her face . . . with an ax in your hand.”

For the first time, Fred Gilman seemed to realize he was in trouble. “I never . . . I only wanted . . .”

Andrew gave him a shake. “You wanted what?”

To Andrew’s astonishment, Gilman’s face crumbled. His body went next, his shoulders and chest caving in as a series of sobs bubbled up in his throat. “It was supposed to be over. When that old crone died, that was supposed to be the end of it.” His breath was coming in ragged gulps now, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Now the other two are back, and the whole town’s talking. No one wants them here. They need to know that.”

“So you set fire to the shed and burned down their orchard—so they’d know.”

Gilman’s eyes flew open. “What? No! I had nothing to do with that!”

Andrew tightened his grip on Gilman’s collar. “And the doll in the tree. The note. That was you too?”

“It wasn’t!”

“Perhaps you need the police to jog your memory. What do you think, should I give them a call? Tell them you threatened a woman with an ax today? Because I think that’s the kind of thing they might be interested in.”

Gilman went pale, his body suddenly limp. “No. No police. Please. I don’t know anything about any doll. And I had nothing to do with that fire. I swear it. I just wanted to scare her, so she’d leave us alone.” He shook his head, blinking away a fresh rush of tears. “I wanted her gone is all. For the dead to stay dead and buried.”

“I’m having trouble believing a word you’re telling me, Mr. Gilman. But here’s what I do believe—you’re a bully. And bullies are just cowards who pretend to be tough guys. It’s why you like to pick on women. But there are a few things you should know about the Moons, and about Lizzy Moon in particular. They don’t scare easy, and they don’t back down. The other thing you should know is that if I catch even a whiff of you around Moon Girl Farm, or anywhere near Lizzy, it won’t be the police you need to worry about. It’ll be me. Do you understand?”

Gilman stared back at Andrew, his mouth drooping mutely.

Andrew gave him a final shake. “Say you understand.”

All Gilman managed was a nod, but it was enough. For now.



Lizzy was sitting on the front steps, sipping a glass of wine and watching night fall, when Andrew pulled into the drive. She lifted her glass in a half-hearted greeting.

“You’re back,” she said, as he came up the walk.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Counting fireflies,” she said quietly. “I loved fireflies when I was a little girl. They looked like stars dancing in the treetops.” She lifted her glass, sipping lazily. “We don’t have them in New York. In the city, I mean. Once, I . . .”

The words trailed off and she fell silent. Andrew eyed the wineglass as he dropped down beside her, wondering how many she’d had. “You all right?”

“Just . . . a bit of a day.” She waited a beat, then pulled in a deep breath. “My Realtor broke up with me this morning, I may or may not have quit my job, and I was threatened by a crazy man with an ax. On the bright side, the bank is going to let me mortgage my grandmother’s farm.” She frowned as she stared into her wineglass. “I think there might be a country song in there somewhere.”

Andrew barely registered the quip. “You quit your job?”

“Maybe.” She paused. Another shrug. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t understand. How don’t you know?”

“Luc and I got into it this morning, about me coming back. It didn’t end well.” She craned her neck, feigning interest in the darkening violet sky. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? How was Fred Gilman?”

“The man’s a wreck of a human being, that’s for sure. But he’s hard to read. I asked him about the fire and the note. He denied it all, of course. Claimed he had nothing to do with it. When I called him a liar, the bastard broke down crying.”

Lizzy’s mouth dropped open. “He . . . wait . . . did you say crying?”

“Like a baby. Honest-to-god tears running down his face.”

She tilted her head back, studying him. “You almost sound sorry for him.”

“I might be if I could get past the image of him holding an ax. But there were times when it felt like he was telling the truth. He talked about being relieved when Althea died, about how her dying meant it was finally over. And he looked genuinely horrified when I accused him of setting the fire. It might have been an act, but it didn’t feel like it.”

“You’re saying you believe him?”

“I’m saying I don’t know. For one thing, there are two different questions on the table. The first is whether Gilman is responsible for the fire and the note. The second is whether he’s capable of harming his own daughters. And the truth is I don’t know the answer to either. Like I said, the guy’s hard to read. One minute he’s all bowed up, talking like a big man; the next he’s a sniveling, snotty mess. One thing I do know is that he doesn’t want you here. He also doesn’t want the cops involved. He looked absolutely petrified when I suggested calling them.”